


Been There, Done That

by cakeisnotpie



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: All sorts of talk about kinks, Breaking up is hard to do, Bucky Barnes Feels, Clint Barton Feels, Clint doesn't have a family, Especially when he was alive the whole time, Fuck the Canon, M/M, Pretty much all kinds of sex, Sex Pollen, Sex Toys, but the rest of the movies apply
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 12:16:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6238375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The worst time to find out the friend/lover you thought dead was alive? Right after you've been hit by sex pollen and need to fuck or die. Good thing there's someone to step up and offer to take care of things. Cause, as Mick Jagger says, you don't always get what you want, but sometimes you get what you need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Been There, Done That

**Author's Note:**

> *laughs manically as I think about trying to explain this fic* 
> 
> I started with the first scene and then this quickly became porn without plot that developed plot as I wrote it. I still love Clint/Phil, but sometimes the whole three years of not telling Clint he's alive gets me thinking of alternative ways to spin Clint into new ships. So I'm hopping on the winterhawk ship for this one.

“No, I do not give my consent,” Clint spit out, anger honing every word to a sharp point. This clusterfuck of a day was devolving into a nightmare of Biblical proportions, and Clint was putting an end to the insanity right now. “There is no way in hell this is happening” 

  


No, strike that. Today was just another in a long line of fucking terrible events with no end in sight. Ever since the colossal brain fuck that was Loki Son-of-a-Bitch Laufeyson, Clint had been riding the Bend-Over-and-Take-It Train. Months of reconditioning with psychiatrists and doctors and counselors, all intent on prying open his brain to study the effects of alien mind control had turned him into a lab rat who happened to shoot arrows pretty well. Then HYDRA inside SHIELD, and half the people treating him were goddamn enemy agents, so who knows what they were really doing poking around in his grey matter. Every bit of personal information aired like dirty laundry hung on a line in the town square called the internet. Fucking carnies giving interviews, Interpol agents sharing details of Clint’s past life … yeah he’d had worse but it was getting close to the top of the fucked-up-beyond-belief list. Then the metal bastard Ultron, created by that pussy-assed Tony Stark who could never leave well-enough alone and Wanda messing with minds and Nat going all loopy over Bruce and that kid Pietro pulling his dying, okay not dead, shit show. All that led to government assholes wanting superheroes -- and Clint was a fucking human, thank you, not anything super -- to register after the cluster that was Peggy Carter’s funeral with Crossbones aka Jackshit Rumlow and Back-From-the-Dead Freakin’ Bucky Barnes aka Winter Soldier going at it and destroying a whole city block.  Yeah, they got that settled but the dust still hung in the air and the Tower was littered with eggshells on the floor. Barnes’ last fifty years were as fucked up as Clint’s last four; okay maybe more so, what with the freezing and brainwashing and bloody wetwork. So there was that to work out on top of everything else. 

  


“Agent Barton,” the doctor was saying in that calm voice medical people used to talk down people high on drugs or completely unstable. “You don’t understand. In its aerosole state, the formula was designed to lower inhibitions and stir emotions for a few hours; however, you were exposed to the concentrated liquid base which is ten times stronger. Without help, your heart rate will spike, your blood pressure rise to dangerous levels, and cardiac arrest is the best of your options. You could easily die or be permanently injured.”

  


“Yeah, I got that. Sex pollen, fuck or die.” Clint glared at the man until he had to step back under the withering scorn. “I’ll take my chances with my hand. Slap a monitor patch on me, and let me go.” 

  


“That’s enough.” Nick Fury swept into the room and the tension ratcheted up to level eleven. Natasha shifted to Clint’s left, not touching him, but providing a solid warm wall of support. Steve was on his right, projecting calm in that annoying leaderly way he had. “Don’t make me invoke rule 72.5.4, Barton. You are compromised, and you know it. I’m within my rights to make the choice for you.”

  


“Yeah?” Clint seethed inside, the white heat of his anger mixing with an urgent arousal beginning to surge through his body. AIM scientists knew their shit; spray a room with this stuff and people would be so busy fucking, they wouldn’t care about anything else. “You’re going to authorize rape, sir? Because that’s what it would be.” 

  


“Clint, please.” The soft words hit like body blows; Phil inched closer, concern filling his eyes. Phil Dead-for-Three-Years Coulson. Director of the secretly risen from the grave SHIELD Phil Coulson. Motherfucking Phil Coulson, the man Clint had been in a relationship with who hadn’t bother to call and say hey, not dead, just thought you should know. “We can fight about this later; right now, let me take care of you.”

  


“No. Nein. Neyt. Hells no.” Clint stood his ground, refusing to give an inch. Prickly heat crawled up his back, he couldn’t draw a deep breath, and his fingers trembled, but he wasn’t giving in. “There is no way in hell you are getting near me. You lost that right three years ago.”

  


“Jesus Christ, Barton,” Fury ground out. “You signed the damn forms, and Phil is listed as your proxy. Just buckle down and do this.” 

  


“Is that an order?” A red flush crept up Clint’s neck and down his arms. Blood pounded in his ears, a frantic beat that was demanding Clint pay attention. “Because if it is, fuck you, sir. I’ll quit first.” 

  


Heat pooled in his groin, sweat trickled under his tac suit. He needed it off, needed to feel hands on his skin, wanted … only by sheer will did he shove it all back, weaving on his feet, but still able to stand upright and glare at Fury.

  


“Sir, his vitals are spiking. I can give him something to mediate, but it won’t last long,” the doctor said to Fury. 

  


“That’s it, Barton. I’m invoking the proxy protocol.” Fury reached out, and Clint backed up, frustration exploding. 

  


“Anybody touches me without my permission will lose a hand,” he snarled. Lust spun into jittering nerves; red filtered into Clint’s vision. Fury’s hand dropped to his weapon; Steve stepped between them. 

  


“That’s enough. No one’s being forced to do anything,” Steve insisted. 

  


“You willing to watch him die?” Fury shot back. 

  


“No. That’s why we’ll find someone else to help him through this.” Steve turned to Clint. “If you want, I’ll …”

  


“Nah, Cap.” Clint scrubbed at the sweat dripping from the ends of his short hair. “Sharon would kill me, and I’m not exactly your type. Not going to be the one to turn Captain America gay. And don’t volunteer, Nat. We had that discussion a long time ago.”

  


“We’ll call Tony back from Malibu. Or Thor. He can get here from London fast.” Steve continued. 

  


“We don’t have time.” The doctor looked at his tablet. “Agent Barton’s temperature is at 102 and rising.”  

  


“Clint, please.” Phil tried again, this time maintaining his distance. “There’s no need to wait for them. I’m willing to help you.”

  


“For Christ’s sake.” Bucky spoke from the first time, pushing away from the wall.  “I’ll do it.” 

  


Clint had forgotten Bucky was even here; hell, he was barely able to string two words together. His situational awareness was shit; the only thing he could focus on was the pounding heartbeat in his cock and the burning fog in his head. 

  


“Barton can’t give his consent in this state.” Fury countered. 

  


“Damn straight, I can,” Clint countered. “Tell me; does that arm have a vibrate function? ‘Cause I have a feeling I’m going to need every variation we can think of.” 

  


The grin on Bucky’s face was the first honest one he’d ever directed at Clint. “You’re going to have to find out. Elevator?” 

  


Ignoring Fury’s protests and Phil’s sputtering, Clint took the elbow Bucky gallantly offered. It was exactly what Clint needed to steady him on his feet but it was funny as hell to think of Bucky squiring him out of the room. Clint would have laughed but the simple brush of Bucky’s shoulder made him bite back a moan instead. 

  


“Get me the hell out of here,” he muttered under his breath. “Before I do something embarrassing like come in my pants.” 

  


“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Bucky said, pushing the button to call the Tower elevator. “I get to tap that fine ass and stick it to SHIELD at the same time.” 

  


They stepped in and the door swooshed shut; Clint swore he could smell gun oil and sweat, the scent revving his libido even further. “I hate to be a whiner, but whatever this shit is, it’s driving me crazy. Thought I was going to pull my dick out and whack off right there.” 

  


“Nothing stopping you now.” Bucky lounged against the mirrored wall. “Or we’ll be at your floor in a few. Don’t have anything in my fridge, and you’re going to need to eat and drink, keep your strength up.” 

  


His skin itched, little burning pin pricks all over, concentrated in his crotch; it felt like fire crawling over his cock. “Jesus,” he groaned, unzipping his vest and yanking the collar open on his under shirt. “Who came up with the idea of sex pollen in the first place? What the fuck is it good for besides having a good laugh at your enemies expense?” 

  


“Best distraction is a panicked crowd.” Bucky shrugged as he answered. “Drop an aerosol version at the Super Bowl or a session of Congress or at Fort Knox.” 

  


“Damn.” He had to get his belt off, get clothing away from his skin. Each seam rubbed his already raw nerves. “That’s a seriously nasty way to get a job done.” 

  


The elevator stopped, door swishing open; Clint stumbled out, heading straight for his apartment, stripping as he went, not caring a whit about leaving his tac suit in the hallway. He needed to cool down, find a way to scratch every place at once. Making a beeline for the fridge, he opened the freezer and grabbed some ice, rubbing it over every patch of skin he could find, unzipping his pants and shoving cubes inside his briefs. Modesty didn’t matter when he was burning from the inside.

  


“Oh, for God’s sake,” Bucky said with a sigh, taking the ice and tossing it in the sink. “You’re not going to get any relief until you have three or four orgasms.” 

  


Pressing Clint backwards, Bucky trapped him against the granite countertop, the stone cool against Clint’s back. With efficiency, Bucky used the melted water and, with only a few strokes of his hand, Clint came with a long exhale. 

  


“You’ve got stuff, right?” Bucky asked, looping his metal hand around Clint’s wrist and dragging him towards the bedroom. “Lube, gel, something slick. Don’t need rubbers; I can’t get anything or give you anything, so we’ll bareback if that’s okay. Skin-on-skin’s the best to get rid of the stuff faster.” 

  


Clint could barely form a thought much less answer; his climax hadn’t even taken a edge off the insistent need to be filled. Clawing at Bucky’s shirt, Clint tried to get a hand underneath, to touch and feel; Bucky pushed him down on the bed instead, tugged off his boots, and yanked his pants down. 

  


“Drawer,” Clint managed to spit out, his mouth far too empty and his ass clenching at the very thought of Bucky pounding into him. “Need. God. Fuck. I can’t …”

  


“You need to be fucked into the mattress, yeah, I can figure that one out.” Strong and even, Bucky’s voice calmed Clint, keeping him from imploding. “Good thing my refraction time is nil. This is going to be a marathon session. You want to bottom, am I right? Need to be filled?” 

  


“Please.” Later, Clint might be embarrassed by how pathetically he begged, but right now none of that matter. “Now, Barnes.”

  


“Yeah, yeah, hold your horses.” Bucky’s shirt was tossed aside then his pants and briefs. Clint blinked at the size of Bucky’s cock; the man was hung and didn’t that make Clint drool just a bit. “Got to work you open. How long has it been?”

  


Distracted by the image of Bucky sliding his cock into Clint’s mouth, he didn’t answer right away. A sharp slap on the ass jerked his attention back. “Two years … not since … Phil. Just me … and the hand ... Jesus Christ, get that thing inside of me before I blow apart at the seams.” 

  


“Not going to risk it.” Slipping a finger in, Bucky steadily stretched Clint, prepping him. “You’re going to be sore enough as it is.” 

  


“Don’t care, just ...Holy fuck, if you don’t … Just do it, damn it.”  Clint twisted his hips, bracing himself on his elbows “I’m ready.” 

  


“You’re damn pushy,” Bucky said. “Always had a soft spot for sassy mouthed bottoms.” 

  


Then he was pushing in and Clint felt the burn and stretch. He groaned and bent his knees, lifting his hips off the bed to meet the first thrusts. “Don’t hold back,” Clint begged. “Hard and fast.”

  


Bucky chuckled. “Oh, you are going to be fun.”  

  


Lost to anything but the rhythm of in and out, Clint rode the motion, tension building higher and higher as Bucky took him at his word and pounding into him with steady pulses. Wanting more, Clint shifted, winding his arms around Bucky’s, lifting himself even further off the bed. His second orgasm broke over him quickly; he came without a touch, moaning. 

  


“It’s not … enough …” Clint mumbled. His cock was still hard and throbbing. 

  


“That’s just two.” Bucky didn’t slow down; he kept up the pace. “Let’s find out just how flexible you are, shall we?”

  


Rising up, Bucky braced his arms on the headboard, forcing Clint to balance on his shoulders and wrap his legs around Bucky’s hips. The deeper angle meant Bucky slammed into Clint’s prostate with every slide, and Clint practically saw stars behind his eyelids. He fell into the rhythm of their bodies coming together and let everything else float away except for the constant thrum of his impending orgasm. Higher and higher the tension wound; Bucky practically had Clint folded in half as he searched for the right leverage to really pound into him. Even when they changed positions, Clint hooking his ankles behind Bucky’s neck, they didn’t stop the steady slides that made Clint brace his hands against the headboard to stop from banging his head. 

  


The next one hit him fast, and he was coming before he even registered it was happening. When Bucky slowed down, Clint groaned, “no, no, keep going, there’s more,” and he dropped his legs as Bucky settled down onto his heels, pulling Clint upright, sitting on Bucky’s lap,  so Clint could do the work, lifting himself with his thighs and impaling himself over and over on Bucky’s cock. 

  


Sweat pooled in the hinge of his hips, soaked his hair, and ran in drops down his back. His heart beat loudly in his ears, keeping time with the strokes. Muscles ached, his fingers slipped, and his breathing was ragged and torn. At some point, he realized he’d closed his eyes; opening them he looked right into Bucky’s impossibly blue ones and had to wind a hand into the long messy hair and yank Bucky’s head back so he could kiss him. Tongue invaded the warm space and Clint moaned, the sound vibrating his teeth. He was almost there, at the apex of the hill he was climbing, ass full, mouth full, hands full … all he needed was Bucky’s hand around his cock, two strokes and he blacked out, brain going offline as the fourth climax slammed into his body. 

  


When he finally came back to his senses, he was sprawled on his back, staring up at the ceiling, Bucky next to him, just as sweaty and worn out as he was. His chest was covered in splatters of pearly white, one patch on his cheek, another under his chin. His ass twinged, messy with lube and come, telling him Bucky had finished as well. But, for the moment, the drive to fuck or be fucked had settled down to a dull roar in the back of his head. 

  


“Fucking hell,” he groaned. “Tell me this stuff is wearing off.”

  


“Nah,” Bucky answered, not bothering to move at all. “There’ll be a round two, a round three, and probably four. Maybe five; who knows the half-life of this shit?” 

  


“You seem to know an awful lot about these kinds of drugs.” Clint rolled his head so he could look at the other man. Bucky’s hair was plastered to his head and sticking to his cheeks. Score one for short hair. 

  


“They had to try them out on someone; why not the guy with the super fast metabolism who can’t get sick?” Bucky gave a half-little shrug, and Clint wanted to react, to tell him what a shitty thing that was, but last thing Bucky needed was sympathy. That Clint knew all about after the clusterfuck of Loki. 

  


“Damn, Barnes, remind me to never play ‘have you ever’ with you,” he said instead, making a joke out of it. “And I thought Nat had the backstory to end all backstories. Me, I’ve just got a shitastic brother and the circus.”

  


Barnes raised an eyebrow as one side of his lips quirked up. “We’d both have to drink to ‘have been a hand puppet for a monster’ so I guess that makes us equal.”

  


“Excuse me, but I prefer free will challenged, if you don’t mind,” Clint said. Deep breaths helped kept the crawling needles at bay; round two looked like a given considering the pool of heat burning in his gut. 

  


“You feeling it again?” Bucky rolled over onto his side, propping up on his elbow. “We should go easy; your ass needs a break. You can fuck me this time.” 

  


“Me?” Clint’s brain stumbled as the image of Bucky beneath him filled it. “Sure … I … yeah, that makes sense.” 

  


That damn eyebrow again; Bucky could speak volumes with it. “You’ve never topped before?” 

  


“Yes, no, I mean … of course I have.” He couldn’t think; his cock throbbed and started to fill out.  “You just surprised me. Didn’t think you’d offer.” 

  


“Let me rephrase the question. Have you ever fucked a man?” Bucky wasn’t letting it go; he was a stubborn as Clint was. 

  


“Fine.” Clint pushed Bucky’s chest, knocking him onto his back. “No, I have never topped a man. I have, however, been fucked by more than one guy plus one very talented woman with a quite amazing strapon. It’s not because I didn’t want to, but the guys I’ve dated wanted to.”

  


“Why, Barton, didn’t know you were such a pushover.” Bucky grinned as he rolled back up, onto his hands and knees, positioning himself over Clint. “You call them ‘sir’ and let them tie you up too? Knew you liked that smack on your ass.” 

  


“Oh, for … Jesus, Barnes, I don’t … I didn’t …” Clint petered to a stop.

  


“Cause if you did I’d be more than glad to oblige.” Bucky just talked over Clint’s attempted denial. “I can hold you down and fuck you hard until you say ‘please, sir, can I have some more.’”

  


“Fucking hell.” Clint closed his eyes as the words seared into his skin, his cock rousing to full mast in seconds. “This is not the best time to ask me; I’d pretty much agree to anything at the moment.”  

  


“Yeah, we can table that one for later,” Bucky agreed. “You call the shots; tell me what you want.” 

  


“What I want?” Honestly, Clint wasn’t used to all this talking about what he liked and didn’t like. Mostly he just went with what his partner wanted. “Um, whatever works sounds good.” 

  


“Come on, Barton. Use your words,” Bucky goaded. 

  


“Fine. I want your cock fucking my mouth.” Clint didn’t know why he cared what Bucky thought of his kinks. He was pretty sure Bucky had a bunch of his own. 

  


Rolling off the bed, Bucky padded across the floor and into the adjoining bathroom. “See? You can do it.” Water splashed and then he came back and tossed a washrag at Clint for him to clean up. “Now, let’s see how much of a gag reflex you have.” 

  


He straddled Clint’s head, knee on either side of his ears then dropped down onto his hands. As soon as the tip came close enough, Clint’s tongue darted out and licked across the slit. One thing he knew he did well was suck cock. He liked the feel of the weight in his mouth, the fullness in his throat. Probably stuck in the oral stage, that’s what one of the SHIELD therapist had told him; not that he’d talked about giving blow jobs, but he’d gotten the message. Tracing the edge of the flushed head, Clint closed his lips around it, savoring the taste and the velvety softness. He kissed the tip, licked along the shaft, fondled Bucy’s balls with his fingers; he took his time, explored every inch, and enjoyed it. Moist heat engulfed his own cock; tilting his chin up, Clint opened his mouth and slid the full length all the way inside until his nose nestled in the wiry hair at the base. 

  


“Holy hell, Barton,” Bucky gasped as Clint sucked hard. 

  


“Pays to learn to give head from a sword swallower,” he replied. Then his lips slid down again and set about taking Bucky to the best orgasm he’d ever had. 

  


Clint lost himself in the sensations, barely noticing when he came. Scrabbling his fingers though the bedspread, he found the bottle of lube and slicked up his fingers, reaching around to press his thumb inside of Bucky.

  


Sitting up on his heels, Bucky rested his weight on Clint’s biceps and took control, holding Clint down as he set a quick pace. Bucky’s strength made Clint shiver, the cool metal of his hand a stark contrast to heat washing through Clint’s body. He let go and rode the feeling until he felt Bucky’s balls tighten. With a grunt, Bucky came; Clint swallowed and sucked until Bucky pulled away and flopped over on his back. 

  


“Sword swallower, my ass. Fuck me, but that was some damn fine mouth work,” Bucky said. 

  


“Next time it will be your ass.” Clint groaned as he pushed himself up. “But I need something cold to drink.” His legs trembled as he stood; for a second, the room spun but then settled. “Food would be good. I might have some leftover chinese in the fridge.” 

  


Wandering into the kitchen, Clint was surprised by how weak he felt. “Hey J, you keeping tabs on my vitals?” 

  


“Indeed, Agent Barton. Your heart rate, while still elevated, is at the top of the normal aerobic range. Dr. Banner said the compound should begin to wear off after eight hours, sooner if you keep your metabolism increased,” the A.I. responded. “Also, Agent Romanoff and Captain Rogers ordered some food for you; it’s waiting in the hall.” 

  


“Food.” Bucky made a beeline to the door and threw it open, still completely naked. He brought in a box and a paper bag with grease spots and deposited them on the counter. “Let’s see what we’ve got.” 

  


First out was an eight pack of gatorade in Clint’s favorite blue ice flavor; he grabbed one, popped it open and drank half of it in one long pull. Next were four squares wrapped in butcher paper. “Ooooh,” Clint said, unwrapping the first one and glancing inside. “An Elvis! Yes!”

  


The second sandwich was piled high with roast beef; Bucky snagged it from Clint’s hands. “Elvis? What is that?” he asked before he bit into the pink meat slathered with hot mustard. 

  


“Peanut butter, honey, raisins, and bananas on rye bread. Elvis loved it.” Clint offered him half. “Want to share?” 

  


With a shrug,  Bucky took it, sliding half of his roast beef to Clint. After the first bite, he said, “Eh, not bad. Not enough meat, but it’ll do.” 

  


“Philistine,” Clint said around a mouthful. “This is the king of sandwiches.” 

  


“Whatever,” Bucky replied, polishing off the half in three bites. “What else do we have?” 

  


The other two squares were second sandwiches; tucked in the box were two bags of chips -- cool ranch doritos for Bucky and Cheetos for Clint. A dozen chocolate chip cookies finished out the space. As they ate, leaning on separate sides of the breakfast bar, they talked about nothing important -- good burger places, the last movie they saw, why Steve insisted on wearing tight shirts. Clint made it through a sandwich and a half; Bucky ate all of his and the extra half of Clint’s. Half the cookies were gone before Clint dug into the rest of the box; Nat had packed some bottles of lube and a variety of sex toys. 

  


“The tingling lube is Steve’s,” Bucky said. “Sharon likes it.” 

  


“Oh, God,” Clint closed his eyes. “Now that’s burned in my retinas. TMI, dude. TMI.” 

  


“Let’s see what else they sent.” He opened a long rectangular box and out slid a large green dildo, batteries, and a smaller black box. Bucky popped in the batteries and hit the remote. The plastic began to throb and turn. “Wow, variable speed.”

  


“Gah, okay, who would want to shove that up their ass? It’s huge!” Clint picked up another box and tried not to look at the thing circling like one of those solar powered flowers people put on their car’s dash. 

  


“It’s not just a dildo, it’s an official Hulk version,” Bucky practically crowed as he looked at the label. “Hey, do they have a Hawkeye one? Bet you donuts to dollars there’s a Cap. Oh, god, I’ve got to get one and make sure Steve knows.” 

  


“Jesus, I have no clue. Tony handles the marketing end of things and it’s something he’d do. Official Avengers sex toys. That’ll play well in …” He paused as beads fell out of the box, all connected by a plastic string. They started small and got larger as they went along; a handle came after the largest one. And they were all a vibrant purple. “What the hell? Stark must have put these in. I’ve got no clue.” 

  


He held them by the handle, letting them dangle towards the floor. Bucky snickered. “Anal  beads. Shove them in, one after the other, until you can’t hold anymore. Oh, this one has a flexible cord so they’ll move once they’re inside.”

  


“Shit.” Clint started to lay them on the counter, thought better of it, then dropped them back into the box. “What will people think of next?” 

  


“A cock ring.” Bucky held up the circular piece. “And it vibrates too. Now that’s serious torture. Full cock, can’t get off, and zing it at the same time? Definitely not using this on you right; you don’t have any problem keeping it up at the moment. File it away for later use.” 

  


“Okay, I admit it. I have a very vanilla sex life.” Clint looked at the varieties of lube. “Warming, cooling, arousing, strawberry, … this one is called Gun Oil. Tony probably just orders one of everything and tries them until he finds one he likes.”

  


“Hey, if Daddy Warbucks wants to share, I’m all for it.” Bucky grabbed the Gun Oil. “Good stuff. Makes butt plugs slide right in.”

  


“Honestly, have you done all this or are you just shitting me?” Clint had to ask. He wouldn’t put it past Barnes to make it up wholesale. The man was competitive to the nth degree. 

  


“Do what you have to for the shot, right?” Bucky’s eyes dropped, and he shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “This one mark, the only way to get him was at his favorite bondage club. I got my nipples pierced … ever done that? So damn sensitive, man … and my nose, eyebrow, and tongue. Skipped the cock one, though. He wasn’t going to get a hand down my pants. They make these clamps with chains; attach them to each nip and let gravity work. Kinda liked it, so I keep the holes clean and put them in sometimes just to rub against the leather jacket.” 

  


Just like that, the drug flushed through his system again, heating his body from head to toe and raising his cock like a flag run up a pole. He nearly choked on his sip of Gatorade at the mental image of Bucky wearing nipple rings beneath his uniform. “You wear them in a fight?” He had to ask. 

  


“Turns you on, does it?” Bucky scooted his stool back and picked up the empty papers and chip bags. Glancing at the clock, he said, “Time for round three. Good news is you made it almost an hour so this one’s going to less fuck-or-die and more just fuck me now. Bad news, round four’s a given if you’re hitting three this early. So, pick one of these and let’s give it a whirl.” 

  


“PIck? What?” Smooth, that was Clint Barton. His tongue tripped over his teeth as he stared at the collection on the counter. 

  


“No more vanilla, we’re going for neopolitan by the time this is over, so pick one. And decide top or bottom,” Bucky explained.

  


“No way I’m going with that,” Clint said pushing the dildo out of the way. “And I don’t need to hold back an orgasm, so I guess it’s these things. And you’re doing the riding; the couch needs to be broken in.” 

  


“Warm or cool?” Bucky tossed both lubes onto the cushions, perfect arcs from kitchen to couch. “Got a preference.” 

  


“You going to go all winter on me?” Clint crossed the space and climbed on the big brown leather section, resting his arms on the back and knees on the cushions. He wiggled his butt; Bucky sighed. 

  


“You are such an ass, Barton,” he said, smacking one cheek with his open hand. “Cool it is.” 

  


Dropping his head onto his forearms, Clint jumped when metal fingers slicked gel over his hole. Still messy and open, he felt only a twinge when the first ball pressed in. He breathed out and relaxed his muscles as the second followed. The tingling was the lube this time, the same cool sensation from icy hot pads he used on sore muscles.

  


“Clench up once it’s in,” Bucky told him. “That will force it up further.” 

  


“Oh.” They shifted, the oddest feeling; Clint remembered not to hold his breath as the third pushed past and he tightened around it. “Okay that’s  …”

  


“You can handle another,” Bucky assured him. The fourth stretched Clint wide and he whimpered as it forced one of the others right against his prostate. “You want me to stop? There’s just one more.” 

“Do it.” Hell, he jumped off roofs and swung from ropes all the time; he could expand his experiences in the bedroom beyond basic choices. Already he felt fuller than he ever had, not quite sure about the strange sensation of the beads inside of him. The last one wasn’t pleasant going in, but, for someone who was routinely wounded, it didn’t even rank above a one on the scale of hurt. 

  


“Okay?” Bucky asked, rubbing a hand up Clint’s spine. 

  


“Yeah, just let me turn …” Clint pushed up, the beads shifted, and a jolt of pleasure made his cock jerk. “Damn. They’re going to do that every time I move, aren’t they?” 

  


“That’s the beautyl of it.” Bucky grabbed the lube and slicked up his fingers. “Do it yourself prostate massage.” 

  


Bracing a foot on the couch, he reached behind to begin working himself open. Clint smacked his hand and sat down, pulling Bucky’s thighs until he knelt over Clint. Now Bucky’s hands rested on the back as he straddled Clint’s lap. 

  


“I do know how to do this,” he groused. Just to be ornery, he picked the warming lube and covered his fingers. “Let’s see if you melt, shall we?” 

  


Clint’s fingers slipped in easily; he twisted and bent them until Bucky growled. Then he kept at it, rubbing and pressing until Bucky leaned over and nipped at the skin on Clint’s shoulder, leaving teeth shaped indentions in a semi-circle. 

  


“Come on, Barton. Don’t be a tease,” he grumbled. 

  


A hand on Bucky’s hips, Clint gripped himself with the other as Bucky lowered down, pressing the head in first and then dropping down all the way. The motion made Clint clench up and he groaned; it was almost too much. Ass full, cock deep inside Bucky, every tiny movement sending ripples through him, Clint dropped his head back and began to thrust up, meeting Bucky as he lifted up and slammed back down. Sweat formed, beads running through his hair and down his neck; his hands slipped on Bucky’s skin as his breathing grew ragged.

  


So close; Clint was so close if he could just … Bucky ducked his head and captured Clint’s mouth, filling it with his tongue and that was exactly what Clint needed. He moaned into Bucky’s mouth, his fingers clenched, and he thrust up once, twice, three times before he came, his vision going white around the edges. He held on to enough awareness to reach for Bucky’s cock, finishing him off so he splattered all over Clint’s chest, some hitting his chin. 

  


“You sure about another round? ‘Cause I’m done for,” Clint said when he could string a sentence together again. 

  


“Rest for a bit and we’ll see. Come on; let’s get you cleaned up and in bed.” Bucky had to drag him off the couch; Clint stood up, the beads shifted, and he moaned, his cock making a valiant effort to rise to the occasion. 

  


“Do people actually leave these in?” He hobbled slowly to the bathroom. “How?” 

  


Bucky opened the shower door and nudged Clint in that direction. “They like the feeling, I guess. I don’t get it either; anything that inhibits movement is out of the question. You want to do it or want me to?” 

  


“I can manage.” Being flexible had its perks; Clint propped a foot up on the tile bench in the monstrously large stall and caught the handle. The first one was the worst then the rest slid out easily. Strangely, coming out was just as arousing as going in had been. Maybe he really should explore some more. Dropping the beads in the corner, he turned on the water, an instant warm stream that felt amazing, and began cleaning himself up. 

  


After a few minutes, Bucky joined him, stealing the soap to do Clint’s back. Thankfully, Clint’s libedo seemed to be in remission at the moment, burning need changing to drowsy exhaustion. After toweling off, Clint headed straight for the crisp clean sheets Bucky had put on the bed, crawling between them and sprawling out. 

  


“You coming to bed?” he asked.  

  


“Nah, I’m not … I don’t sleep,” Bucky admitted. “But I’ll be here when you wake up. Just call.” 

  


Clint didn’t have time to wonder about that statement; he was already sliding into a medicated darkness, the drug pulling him under. 

  


_ “You have heart.”  _

  


_ Phil’s hands clenched around Clint’s biceps, holding tight as he surged in, filling Clint, rocking his hips forward.  _

  


Sheets twisted in his hands, pillow bunching up. Kicking off the covers, he searched for cool air. 

  


_ “Agent Coulson fell in the Battle of New York.”  _

  


_ Biting his lower lip, Clint arched up, wrapping his legs around Phil’s waist, closing his eyes and enjoying the sensation of every thrust.  _

  


He rolled onto his back, spread his legs and moaned as his cock stirred. The cotton grated along his skin, irritating and unwanted. 

  


_ “Bet you didn’t see that coming.”  _

  


_ He was close; the coil in his stomach tightened and he worked a hand between them to stroke himself. Phil groaned, biting his lip in a tell-tale sign he was about to come. _

  


Heat prickled along his skin, spread across his chest and up his neck. His breath caught in his throat; he gasped as his fingers itched and his head ached. 

  


_ “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” _

  


_ Warm splatters fell on Clint’s chest as the golden tip cut through Phil’s chest. Eyes wide, Phil fell back, jerked by the motion of Loki removing the spear. A gaping hole appeared, bone and sinew revealed.  _

  


The fire consumed him, mindless need driving out all other desire. His muscles spasmed as his head tried to make sense of it all. 

  


“I killed you,” Clint whispered.

  


_ Skin turned grey and peeled away. Muscle turned to hanging skin. Phil opened his mouth and teeth fell out, milky white eyes staring down at Clint.  _

  


_ “I’m not dead,” he said.  _

  


Clint sat up, eyes darting around the dark corners of the room. Swinging his legs over the side, he wiped the sweat from his brow, images jumbling together. Fever flashed through him, his cock throbbing. 

  


“Fuck this.” He stood, striding past Bucky who stepped aside to let him through the door. Opening the fridge, he grabbed a bottle of Gatorade and cracked it open, drinking in down in three long gulps. That wasn’t what he wanted, so he took down a bottle of bourbon, poured himself a shot, and tossed it back his throat, savoring the burn all the way into his stomach. Fingers trembling, he sat the glass down and hung his head. The alcohol wasn’t working either. The pounding of his heart swamped his brain; he wanted it to go away, to let him sleep. 

  


“Here.” Bucky tossed something towards him; he caught the tube of flavored gel out of habit. “Bruce said they put a psychotropic drug in the mix. Got to get it out of your system with one last hurrah.” He stepped out of the pants he’d been wearing, kicking them aside. “Haven’t christened the countertop yet.” 

  


The sight of Bucky’s ass lit the fuse and started the chain reaction. Clint growled in the back of his throat, spun Bucky around and bent him over the granite where they’d been eating just a short time ago. He slicked up and pushed in without hesitation, bottoming out in one swift thrust. Leaning his weight on his hands, Clint snapped his hips and set a punishing pace. 

  


“Yeah, that’s it,” Bucky breathed out. “Knew you had it in you, Barton. Come one, I can take it. Go as hard as you want.” 

  


Clint widened his stance and scooped up for the next thrust; Bucky barked out a curse and Clint chuckled darkly as he went for the same spot again for the same result. “I never miss, Barnes. Now you know what that means.” 

  


“Screw you,” Bucky ground out, his voice thready; his metal fingers clenched hard enough that Clint heard a crack. “You are … not the … best … sniper … on … the … Jesus fucking Christ, Clint. Do it again. Harder.” 

  


He didn’t need to be asked twice. Too many emotions were boiling under his skin and letting himself loose to sink into Bucky’s tight heat was the release he needed.  He kept going until the countertop began to give way then he paused long enough to spin Bucky around, press his back up against the fridge, and start fucking him again, one leg hitched up to give Clint access. Bruises bloomed where Bucky touched Clint’s skin, but he never gave an inch, dragging long strings of foul language from Bucky’s mouth as he pounded into him. 

  


The fridge began to teeter, so Clint swapped positions again, dragging Bucky to the overstuffed chair in the living area and bending him almost double over the back. At some point, Clint realized he was shaking, his whole body trembling as the fever took him. Tears ran down his face; he leaned forward, draping his body over Bucky’s back, and the words came tumbling out in a rush. 

  


“I killed him.”  Clint couldn’t stop the cresting wave. “But he’s not dead and he didn’t tell me.”  He snaked a hand around Bucky’s hip and circled his cock, stroking with a tight twist at the end, wringing a gasp and a wiggle from Bucky. “I killed him, Buck. As sure as if I shot him myself, but he’s not dead and others are and … Oh, God, he’s not dead … not dead … not …”

  


The climax that hit him sent electricity roaring through his neurons. Muscles spasmed, his legs gave way; he couldn’t hold himself up so he collapsed onto Bucky, shaking and crying and repeating the same thing over and over again. “I killed him. I killed him.” 

  


When the storm subsided, Clint was sitting in Bucky’s lap, curled into his chest, Bucky’s arms holding him tight. With a deep breath, he let it all go, draining out of him, leaving only exhaustion behind. 

  


“Well, that was fucking awkward,” he said, not bothering to lift his head. Last thing he wanted was to see was pity in Bucky’s eyes. 

  


“But not awkward fucking,” Bucky replied, having none of Clint’s bashfulness. He tipped Clint’s head up, fingers under his chin. “Haven’t had that hard a fuck since I got to New York. Snot and tears aside, it was damn fine sex.” 

  


Nothing but humor danced in Bucky’s blue eyes; Clint sighed, the last bit of doubt leaving. “Yeah, an emotional breakdown is part of the Clint Barton Special. Great fucking, crying over the ex while buried balls deep. Really makes me popular with the ladies and gents.” 

  


“I’ll give you a pass this time. Lover back from the dead AND sex pollen deserves a get-out-of-jaill free card. But once is my limit; don’t do it again.” Bucky stood, maneuvering around the chair, carrying Clint as if he weighed nothing. “Now, you can sleep. Catharsis is good for the soul and burning up the last of a nasty drug.” 

  


Every limb felt boneless, his body unresponsive; Bucky helped him lean against the bathroom counter while he wet a washrag, suds up some bath wash, and ran it over both of them. Then he hustled Clint into the bed, straightening the tangled sheets. Before Clint could ask, Bucky slipped in next to him and gathered him back up, cradling him against his chest. 

  


“Thought you didn’t sleep,” Clint slurred out. His eyelids drifted closed and were too heavy to open again. 

  


“I’ll stay for a bit,” Bucky murmured. “Sleep, Clint. You’re safe.” 

  


“Know that.” He snuggled closer. “Night, James.” 

  


When he woke, his eyes sliding open, he was completely relaxed, one foot out of the covers, cool in the breeze from the air conditioning vent. No medicated hangover or prickles of heat, just the feeling of a good night’s sleep. He breathed a sigh of relief; it seemed the stuff was out of his system. 

  


A warm weight lay across his chest; Bucky’s head lay a few inches below Clint’s chin, his metal arm thrown across Clint’s body, and one leg wrapped around one of Clint’s. Mouth slightly open, a tiny line of drool running down, Bucky was definitely asleep, breathing deep and even. 

  


The clock read 15:37, but Clint didn’t know what day it was. He’d lost track of time; one day, two days … he had no clue. He could ask Jarvis but he’d wake Bucky and that was something he didn’t want to do. Since the moment Bucky had volunteered for this job -- and Clint knew that’s what it had been, Bucky stepping in to stop the meltdown that was building -- Clint had come to appreciate his quirky sense of humor and his solid presence. He already liked the ex-assassin; a foul mouth, good shot, and take-no-shit attitude was Clint’s favorite. But now he had an inkling of what what made Bucky tick. 

  


And then there was the magically reappearing Phil Coulson. It wasn’t that they’d been married or even in a long-term relationship; they’d had a casual thing that could have been more if they’d had time to spend on it. Oh, he cared for Phil, could have fallen in love with him, but … now he wondered if part of it had been Clint’s gratitude at being taken seriously. Phil had helped him from the beginning of his time at SHIELD.

  


“You think too loud,” Bucky grumbled. He pushed up on his elbow and blinked the sleep from his eyes. “Deal with the dead boyfriend later; right now I’m hungry. Let’s order some food; I’m hungry.” 

  


“I thought you didn’t sleep,” Clint teased. It should be awkward, the afternoon after … or after after … but it wasn’t. Bucky didn’t expect Clint to be anything more than who he was. 

  


“Just dozed off,” Bucky said, denying the obvious. 

  


“Jarvis, how long have we been asleep?” Clint asked. 

  


“Sergeant Barnes slept for twelve hours and forty-two minutes. You slept for slightly longer at thirteen hours and sixteen minutes,” the A.I. told him.

  


“Well, well. I wore you out.” Clint snorted, nudging Bucky with his knee. “But I don’t think I’m up for anything right now. My ass is aching and I think my dick is chapped.” 

  


“Don’t get cocky, kid. Even I have to crash every now and then.” Bucky grinned. 

  


“Now the old guy is quoting Star Wars at me,” Clint said. “Look, seriously, thanks for enlisting for the marathon. That could have turned ugly.”

  


“Yeah, well, you own me. Next time I get doused with go juice, you’re up.” Bucky paused, looking down at Clint. “Or whenever.” 

  


“Whenever’s good.” Clint closed the distance, brushing his lips across Bucky’s. “So, what kind of food? I’m in the mood for something spicy. You like curry?” 

  


Two weeks later, Clint was ensconced on the couch in the common area, feet up on an ottoman, introducing Bucky to the joy that was Firefly when Phil walked into the room. Within a minute, Steve and Bruce left, and Clint paused the episode; Bucky, however, stayed right where he was. 

  


“I wanted to … Can I speak with you?” Phil asked, stopping beside the couch. 

  


“Sure.” Clint nodded to a chair but Phil didn’t sit down. “But first, I want to be clear about a couple things. First, I wasn’t really in a state the other day to be rational about seeing you again. Knowing you, there’s a perfectly good reason why you didn’t tell me you were alive; some strange voodoo Nick used to bring you back, memory loss, any number of things. Eventually, I’ll come to terms with it and we might be able to be friends again. We’ll need to work together, SHIELD and the Avengers, so we could even become partners again. But the rest? That ship has sailed. Not negotiable.”

  


“We both knew the job came first,” Phil said, sagging onto the arm of the chair. “There is a story, but it sounds too much like an excuse. Later, I’ll fill you in. I should have told everyone, especially you and Natasha. But I didn’t, and I have to live with the consequences. At least there’s a chance we can work together again; I’ve really missed having you as my left hand.” 

  


“I could use your voice in my ear again,” Clint admitted. “But it’s going to take time.” 

  


“Agreed.” A ghost of a smile haunted Phil’s face. “You’ve changed; I’m glad to see you happy. You deserve it.”

  


“We’re watching Captain Mal. You’re welcome to stay,” Clint offered. Bucky kicked his shin. “Ouch. What? It’s a group outing, anyone can hang out.” Bucky glared at him. “Fine. But I’m going remember this when you drag Steve to the gym with you.”  

  


“I can’t stay anyway,” Phil said. “I’m here to talk to Stark about a new prosthetic. I hear he’s pretty good at making them.” 

  


“Yeah, the hand is going to be the first explanation. Do I need to find someone and have James take them out?” Clint asked. 

  


“Self-inflicted to stop a mutagenic agent from killing me.” Phil shrugged as if he told that story every day. “But thanks for the offer.”  He stood. “I’ll see myself to the lab. Assuming Tony lets me in.” 

  


After the elevator doors swished closed, Bucky snatched the popcorn and took away the remote. “You are such a pushover, Barton. Practically bent over backwards and showed your ass. I stayed for the fireworks and all I got was hearts and rainbows.”

  


“Hey, I offered to have you kill someone. That should make you happy.” Clint tried to get the bowl back, but Bucky kept it out of reach. “Fine. No Junior Mints for you.” A box appeared in Clint’s hands. “Should we call Steve and Bruce back?” 

  


“Whatever,” Bucky said, laying his arm along the back of the couch so Clint could snuggle up against his side. “Just start it already. I want to know how Mal ended up naked in the desert.” 

  


“You just want to see Mal naked,” Clint countered. 

  


“That too,” Bucky replied. 

  
  
  



End file.
